


Eye of the Storm

by sffan



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sffan/pseuds/sffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a mission, Yohji savours a few quiet moments with Aya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is from a previous archive, written between 2002 and 2008. No additional changes or edits have been made since it’s original posting date and none will be.  
> 
> Original Notes:  
> Ever have an absolutely absurd, fairly out of character, image in your head and you just HAVE to figure out a way to make it happen? Well, that’s where this one came from. Thanks, once again, to emungere for wrangling the commas and for providing a title.

The music plays, a slow, gentle ballad – some English song that I can’t quite catch the words to – and we dance, barely moving to the beat, like a couple of romantic fools, instead of the cold-blooded killers we really are. We caused quite a stir when we started dancing – as we were supposed to, providing an adequate distraction, so that Omi and Ken could slip away unnoticed.

Aya’s body is a hard, warm presence against mine; one arm is draped loosely around my waist, the other pressed to my chest, his fingers toy with a button on my shirt. Every now and again, his fingertip slips under the silk and strokes my chest. Aya’s head rests against my cheek, and I inhale the light herbal scent of his hair as we sway together.

I’m half-hard, just from this, and I could kill him for it, because I really shouldn’t be this distracted. We have a job to do. But right now, for a few precious moments, I don’t give a shit. I just relish the way Aya feels in my arms, ignoring the hard steel of the katana that lies hidden down the back of his long black dress coat.

“Aya,” I say quietly, my voice thick with desire, and he tilts his head up. I run my fingers down his cheek and lean down and press my lips to his. I can hear the murmurs of the people around us as we stop moving and just kiss – long and slow, savouring every second of it. Aya’s hand curls around my lapel, and he pulls me closer as I cup his face, stroking his skin with my thumb. His free hand threads through my hair and I clutch at his hip, drawing him even closer. Our tongues touch and tease for a few seconds and then I pull back sucking gently on Aya’s bottom lip, drawing a slight sound of pleasure out of him, just as Omi’s voice comes over the communication unit in our ears.

“Abyssinian, Balinese, you’re on. We’ve got the files.”

I sigh quietly, and Aya lets go of my jacket. I can see the change in his expression almost immediately as he puts on his “game face” – a cold, emotionless mask that still sends a shudder down my spine when I see how easily it slips into place.

But there are dark beasts to slay and we must carry out our orders. I stroke his cheek one last time, and then we move, I reaching for my watch, he for his blade, and soon these memories will be lost in a sea of blood.


End file.
